


if tomorrow looks bleak try looking at today

by supertoyslastallsummerlong (Sh_Wat)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Canon Child Death, Connor is not a detective prototype, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), mentions of depression and suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27983223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sh_Wat/pseuds/supertoyslastallsummerlong
Summary: I'm deeply sleep-deprived but i can't keep it hidden anymore :)Connor is an Eden club model but it almost plays no role in the plot. Also, this is basically the retelling of the game but with different perspective.I'm sure i screwed up with chronology of events, and i'm sorry, but on the other hand, it's an AU :)Fair warning - English is not my first language, apologize in advance for any mistakes and weird phrases!
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	if tomorrow looks bleak try looking at today

**Author's Note:**

> I'm deeply sleep-deprived but i can't keep it hidden anymore :)  
> Connor is an Eden club model but it almost plays no role in the plot. Also, this is basically the retelling of the game but with different perspective.  
> I'm sure i screwed up with chronology of events, and i'm sorry, but on the other hand, it's an AU :)  
> Fair warning - English is not my first language, apologize in advance for any mistakes and weird phrases!

Garish pink neon of the signage shimmered enticingly. The Eden club, the last place Hank would ever want to be. But the report said that there had been an Android attack on a human here twenty minutes ago – android had stunned the victim and run off with his clothes. It was not caught, despite the fact that the victim came to almost immediately and called for help.

Hank shivered as he entered the club. To his right and left were rows of plastic cylinders, with half -naked androids posing sensuously inside. They looked so human, so alive, that Hank couldn't look at them. How could local visitors ignore all the cynical horror of this picture?

In the first room, amid the purple lights and writhing bodies of dancing androids, a pale Manager with sweat on his temples excitedly demanded that Ben guarantee that his place would not be closed.

\- Hi, Hank, - Ben said, clearly glad to get away from him. - We're going to that room.

On a round bed in the middle of the room, wrapped in a blanket, sat a man in his thirties who had been the victim of an attack. His hands were all in blue liquid. There was already a bandage on his temple. After checking Ben's notes, Hank chuckled, suddenly realizing why the police should have responded so quickly.

\- Leo Manfred ... that artist's son, right?

Leo glared at Hank and then looked down.

\- What does it matter? I almost got killed by a fucking machine and my stuff was stolen. Clothes, wallet, everything…

Hank noticed the shards of a champagne bottle next to the bed and a string of deep blue spots.

\- You didn't give up without a fight... - he muttered. Leo looked at him warily, shrugging. The sudden movement made Hank look closer, and Leo jerked again, harder, under his gaze. Familiar signs…

\- Mr. Manfred, are you not feeling well? - Hank asked, moving further across the room to the oil table, which was also in disarray. Leo watched him go and suddenly jumped to his feet:

\- Are you kidding? I just got hit on the head by a plastic freak. Of course I don't feel well. Look, it might escape while you're standing here…

Hank had already found what he was looking for – a few grains of scarlet powder were left on the table.

\- Ben, we need a drug expertise, - he said shortly.

Leo's face twisted with anger, but Hank easily pushed him away.

\- Red ice can increase the level of aggression, Mr. Manfred. Your fellow party-goers didn't tell you?

Leo's face went dead, and he sank back on the bed without a word.

\- Look for the plastic bastard, - he said, - and give me my belongings back.

Without a last glance, Hank left the room. The thirium trail was faint – rare isolated drops-but it didn't stop, and it led to the storage room where androids were kept when they weren't being used. And it was even harder to be here than it was up there. Androids, looking so much like humans, stood in impassive, motionless rows, lying on tables with their plastic body parts exposed. They shouldn't have made androids look so... human, Hank thought. But then he was ashamed of his own thoughts.

Hank went to the open door to the alley and looked out at the rain-drenched concrete. Wherever android was now, Hank half hoped it was far away, that it wouldn't be caught. And the fact that this place will be closed, at least for the fact that customers here consumed red ice. Even if androids didn't fully realize it, they deserved a chance to free themselves from what was happening here.

He was about to turn and leave when a dark shadow against the wall caught his eye. Hank took a closer look and froze. Pressed against the wall opposite him was a young man dressed in an oddly tight jacket and too-short trousers. Trickles of Thirium trickled down his leg from the knee down. The LED on his temple was blinking red.

They stared at each other for a moment. Then Hank turned his full body toward him, and android looked at the gun. He darted forward so fast that Hank didn't even have time to raise the weapon – he pushed Hank against the wall and with a sharp, short blow knocked the gun out of his hand. Hank twitched in his grip – android was strong, stronger than Hank had expected. He was so close that Hank could clearly see the streaks of Thirium under his nose and the smudged plastic on his cheekbone. He looked straight into Hank's eyes, but there was no anger on his face, no cold determination – his mouth twisted as if in pain. Hank looked down at his leg, which android was leaning on through apparent difficulty.

\- Hank? - Ben called from inside, presumably from the storage room door. - Have you finished looking around here?

Android froze. Hank knew that he knew he couldn't get out of here alive if he couldn't get over the fence at the end of the alley because of his wound. Even if he gets to the gun first.

\- Empty, - Hank shouted to Ben, and android started, looking at Him in disbelief. – It must have already escaped over the fence. I’m going.

The door inside closed with a distinct thud. Hank moved his wrists experimentally, and android released him. He immediately leaned against the wall opposite, his face showing obvious relief when the load was removed from his leg.

Hank went to get the gun, and android watched him go.

\- I'll help you out. - Hank said, not quite believing what he was suggesting. Android cocked his head warily. - I'll finish there and bring the car here. You need repairs, you won't get far... like this.

When there was no response, Hank waved a hand at the fence.

\- Let me at least help you get over there. Come on, think fast before anyone comes out here.

Android made a final decision for only a second – then nodded and limped closer. Hank nudged his good leg up and breathed a sigh of relief when he was on the other side. The thirium from his clothes fell into Hank's hands, and he shivered. Hot... almost as hot as blood.

\- Thank you, - android said quietly. He looked at Hank through the bars, then at his leg. – I trust you. I'll wait for you.

Hank couldn't take his eyes off his serious, determined face. If it weren't for the blue streaks of Thirium, he would never have thought that there was a machine in front of him. There was real trust in his voice, real openness.

Hank was so focused on his own thoughts that he was completely unaffected by the accusations of negligence and threats leveled at him by Leo Manfred, who was arrested for using red ice. Most likely, his father would take pity on him and bail him out – although Hank wouldn't want anyone to have this relationship with his son. It had been a long time since he'd felt a nervous tension so intense that it hurt in his solar plexus. Ben asked sympathetically if he had a headache, and Hank chuckled in agreement, even though it was a rare day when he didn't suffer from an excruciating hangover. And he was glad that yesterday, for once, he had limited himself to two whiskies at the bar. A clear head helped him focus and make sure everyone was gone when he turned into the alley behind the club.

Android waited for him. Hank barely had time to wonder at the relief that surged through him when he saw a familiar crouching figure behind the tanks.

\- Get in the backseat, - Hank said, laying an old jacket he'd left in the trunk on top of him. He would be able to say good-bye to it, but at least he would keep some of the upholstery.

Android looked at the car curiously.

\- Old model, - he said, half-asking, looking back at Hank.

\- Yes, I'm very old-fashioned. Come on, get in. Try to lie down more comfortably and keep your head down.

As they pulled out, Hank asked, squinting at the yellow light of the LED in the rearview mirror:

\- Could you fix yourself? Or do you need mechanics?

\- I could, - android said after a pause. - But I need biocomponents. And Thirium.

Hank sighed. His Bank account wouldn't thank him, even though he would never buy himself an Android, he knew that spare parts were expensive. It is often complained by the representatives of Cyberlife in cases of damage of police androids.

\- Tell me the biocomponent numbers and brands. Just speak clearly, I won't go there twice.

They stopped in an alley next to the store, and android dictated all the necessary data to Hank and rechecked it. The amount in the store came out nice, despite the fact that he chose the pre-owned section, but Hank firmly told himself that it was better than whiskey.

As they neared the house, android suddenly broke the silence.

\- Do you have a dog? - he asked.

\- How do you know? - Hank glanced at him.

\- The hairs of the Saint Bernard on the seat, - replied android.

Hank shrugged. He felt a strange mixture of mild annoyance and curiosity. Androids seemed to be much better at reading their surroundings and creatures than humans thought – and this was not a very pleasant thought – but there was a genuine sincerity to the question.

\- I've never seen dogs, - android added.- But I think I like them.

Hank met his gaze in the rearview mirror. Android's face expressed something like friendly interest. The bruise was almost gone from his cheek, and all he had to do was wash Thirium away.

\- You're right, Sherlock, I have a dog, - Hank said as he pulled into his driveway. He saw android's eyes light up. - His name is Sumo. You'll meet him now.

He helped android out of the car, blessing the late hour and the lack of witnesses. And of course, as soon as they crossed the threshold, Sumo rushed to meet them, receiving a portion of hugs from the owner and sniffing the unfamiliar smell of the guest.

\- Hello, Sumo, - android said, leaning over and extending a hand. Sumo sniffed his hands and looked at Hank questioningly, but apparently he already approved of him, because he allowed to be petted. Hank noticed a slight smile on android's lips and, not for the first time that evening, thought that he might be asleep and dreaming. Could it be that man could actually create artificial form of life? And used it so mercilessly?

\- Well, there will be time for more cuddles. You should probably go to the bathroom with this.

Android nodded and limped after Hank down the hall. In the bathroom, he looked at the notes on the mirror with interest, but didn't stop to read them.

\- Maybe you don't want to see this, - he said, looking up at Hank. – It... doesn't look very human.

On second thought, Hank decided he was right. After leaving the bathroom and closing the door behind him, he decided to search for more suitable clothes for android.

He didn't really have the right size of clothing, even when he was fit, Hank was bigger, but he ended up with an old hoodie and sweatpants that could be adjusted at the waist. Satisfied with the choice and checking the Sumo bowl, Hank knocked on the bathroom door.

\- Is everything all right? Can I see you?

\- Yes, - said a muffled voice from the other side of the door.

Android was sitting on the side of the tub, flexing his replaced leg. He was still wearing his Eden club uniform shorts. He gave Hank a small smile as he approached, noticing the clothes.

\- Hank, thank you! I wanted to get rid of his things, but I didn't know how to ask for a replacement.

Hank nodded, showing him the paper bag, but android stopped him with a gesture:

\- I'll do it, don't worry.

Hank didn't press the point. He felt a vague satisfaction when he looked at android now and saw that he was standing straight, no longer wincing as he tried to take a step.

\- I'll be in the kitchen if you need me, - Hank said.

The mess in the house didn't bother Hank much, even now. Mostly because there was no point in cleaning it up right now, so Hank decided to focus on finding some more or less edible leftover. He stopped at the pizza when android came into the kitchen with a trash bag and set it against the wall, stopping uncertainly in front of the table. Hank pointed to the chair across from him.

Suddenly android took Leo Manfred's wallet from his pocket and opened it:

\- I'm not sure there's enough for everything, but I'd like to make sure your bank account doesn't suffer because of me.

\- No! - Hank waved a slice of pizza. – I don't need money! What will you have left to live on if you give it all away now?

\- In fact, you were spending money on biocomponents for me, - android said. - So when I give you money for them, I spend it on myself.

The logic was oddly straightforward, but Hank wasn't going to give up so easily.

\- But you'll have to stay somewhere after that, won't you? I know you don't need food or sleep, but just in case? Maybe you'd like to spend the night in a motel instead of hiding in warehouses.

Android looked away, thinking. His face was suddenly tense. Hank was halfway down a coke when he realized the meaning of his expression.

\- You don't know where to go?

Android nodded slightly, still not looking at Hank.

\- But you took the clothes, the money... I thought you had a plan.

Android continued to stare into the corner. Hank didn't know what he could do here, and he didn't know where androids who broke their programming or attacked humans went – where undetected deviants went. He was about to suggest searching the streets for others like them, but cautiously – when android looked up at him with glittering eyes.

\- You think I attacked first? That I wanted to rob him from the start?

Hank just stared at him, trying to make it clear that he was ready to listen. And android must have caught it, because he continued:

\- When I went into that room, I was still ... a machine. Even when he started hitting me, I was… The club's policy is to erase androids ' memory every two hours. But they do it clumsily... they don't quite understand that memory can restore a similar event. And I remembered all the blows I'd received before, and when he started trying to break... disconnect the biocomponent, I realized that... I didn't want to take it. 

Android's story became fragmentary at the end, the LED on his temple pulsing red. Hank felt uneasy, but not for himself. He had heard before that deviants could destroy themselves under extreme stress.

\- Listen, - he said, raising his hands carefully. Android watched him move with a strained face. – You got out of there. It's all over. You'll never go back there. We'll find a place where androids like you go... free androids. I'll help you in any way I can.

Android's LED skipped a few yellow turns and finally stabilized. The look he gave Hank was so full of gratitude that Hank felt a sharp sense of embarrassment. He didn't do enough to earn that look.

He was startled when Connor lightly touched his wrist.

\- Thank you, Hank.

That reminded him of something, and to get rid of his embarrassment, Hank cleared his throat and asked:

\- By the way. You remember my name, and I never asked for yours.

Android tilted his head. He was quite calm, almost amused.

\- You called me Sherlock before. It's pretty, but I've already chosen another one. My name is Connor.

\--

Hank had arranged for Connor to stay the night in the main room. Even though androids didn't need sleep, Connor was happy to climb on the couch, accept a blanket from Hank, and settle down to enter stasis, a kind of standby mode, as he explained.

For the first time in months, Hank went to bed sober. But the adrenaline of the day had exhausted him enough to knock him out as soon as his head hit the pillow. He was awakened by someone dropping pots in his kitchen with a crash.

For a moment, Hank didn't remember what had happened the day before, and he was sure that thieves had broken into the house. Feeling for the gun, he crept out of the bedroom and reached the kitchen to find Connor there, apologizing to Sumo for scaring him.

\- Good morning, Hank, - he said guiltily, looking up at him. - I was careless, I'm sorry. I didn't want to wake you.

\- What the hell is going on here? - Hank frowned at the table, which was no longer filled with old fast food. He guessed that everything had gone to the big garbage bags. Connor followed the direction of his gaze and gave a curt nod to confirm his thoughts.

\- I looked at the contents of those packages. Hank, you shouldn't have eaten this.

For some reason, this unexpected, unsolicited concern didn't make Hank want to snap. On the contrary, he felt a pleasant warmth.

\- Okay, buddy. What am I supposed to eat now?

Connor looked down a little as he stepped back and showed Hank a frying pan on the stove that was still Sizzling with fried eggs that were slightly burnt on the left.

\- You don't have much in the fridge, - Connor said defensively. – I tried to work with what I found.

\- Not bad for the first time, - Hank said, and put the lid on the pan. – But I thought you could download new programs instead of learning on your own.

Connor raised his eyebrows slightly:

\- It would be nice, but Cyberlife protects its programs from piracy. I chose not to risk getting infected with the virus and just looked at the recipe.

\- Alright, alright, - Hank raised his hands in mock surrender. – You're right, actually. Let me wash my face and become more or less human, and let's try your masterpiece.

The eggs were better than Hank had expected. Maybe it was also the fact that no one had cooked for him in more than an age – he stopped visiting friends around the same time he admitted that his life was over. And sitting in the kitchen with the runaway android, who was vividly telling him what he had learned from the news about android freedom in Canada, he felt as comfortable as he probably could now. Up close, he could see that Connor wasn't human after all, could see that his gestures were a little too precise and jerky, and each complex gesture consisted of a clearly visible series of small ones-for example, when he stood up and waved his hand at the same time. But these mechanical details even had some charm of their own. Now that his skin was completely restored and the atmosphere was more relaxed, Hank could see the fine features of his face, the moles on his pale skin, the expressive slightly elongated eyes. His designers did their best – he didn't look quite humanly handsome, he was more like a drawing come to life - but he was still beautiful. Hank would very much like him to get to Canada.

They needed documents – and Hank didn't know if there were people in town who could help them. Connor could be passed off as a human and bought documents on the black market if he wanted to, but Hank had to use his connections. And he could only do this after work, which for once he got out before noon. He had brought a bag with Connor's replaced biocomponent and stolen clothing, intending to dispose of it on the other side of town. He gave Sumo a final pat on the back, leaving the dog outside for the day, and reminded Connor that he shouldn't let Sumo go home or even stick his head out of the house, because he shouldn't be seen. Connor agreed, not too upset at the prospect of spending the day in four walls – judging by the interested look that wandered over the bookshelves and stacks of records, he was planning to spend the day studying a collection of things that were becoming very rare in their world.

Hank locked the door behind him, carrying a strange, neither sad nor happy feeling in his chest all the way to DPD. His house wasn't empty when he left. But very soon everything will be the same. All morning he felt so alive, so ordinary – but soon there would be nothing to distract him from the realization that it was all over, three years ago.

He managed everything he planned, even faster than he expected. At work, no one asked questions about the failed departure, Leo was released on bail, of course, but no further claims were made. Connor's photo had been added to the missing android database, but that was the end of the case. There was another deviant case – an android housekeeper who ran away with the owner's child. Taking the testimony of this man, hot-tempered, moody, and clearly suffering from red ice withdrawal, Hank sincerely doubted that android attacked first and took "his girl" by force. He was rather glad that their trail was lost after the final bus stop where they got off. Hank took advantage of the lunch break to find Pedro, and after a generous tip, Pedro agreed to talk to his friends about the documents.

Everything worked out almost successfully, although there were no guarantees yet. Hank decided that a sense of vague hope was better than a certain hopelessness, and he almost smiled when he opened the front door to himself and Sumo.

Connor sat on the couch and didn't smile back. After washing Sumo's paws, Hank went into the living room, wondering about android's change of mood.

\- I'll be expecting a call today or tomorrow, and I can't say for sure, but there's a chance I can get you the documents, - Hank said, trying to sound happy, even though he couldn't feel it anymore. Connor looked at him with a strange expression - doubt and compassion at the same time.

\- Why are you doing this, Hank? –he asked softly, watching his every movement intently. Hank couldn't figure out what had happened during his absence. Was the change in mood simply because he had been alone with his thoughts for too long? His life wasn't very fun. For Hank, it always worked in a negative way.

\- I want to help you, - Hank said sincerely. Connor looked away, his expression not brightening.

\- You hate androids, - he said. – I saw it... on your terminal. And I didn't see how that fitted in with you helping me.

Hank's chest went cold. He forgot about the stupid stickers that he used to stick on all the near surfaces. What's more, when he talked to Connor, he never once remembered how much he used to hate the glossy uniforms and politely impassive looks. How he was repelled by this mechanical irresponsibility, this unquestioning submission to the master's words, this fatal, cruel, unforgivable inability to think for itself. Connor didn't have that anymore – but what if he had? If the look in his eyes was also just waiting for an order – would Hank want to help him? 

He remembered other androids at the Eden club, insensitive and voluptuous in their packages, living without will until they broke. The friendly face of Kara the android housekeeper. Androids who were broken by radical haters - they were then obliged to pay a fine through the police. "I remembered all the other blows," Connor told him yesterday, they remember stress – they just can't feel and respond to a certain threshold.

\- I didn't know before when I put this on, - Hank said, waving his hand vaguely toward the terminal. – I didn't know how you can feel. That you can ... free yourself.

The warmth didn't return to Connor's eyes, but he nodded. Then he looked back at Hank and said:

\- I was trying to find an explanation. You're not a bad man, you weren't like they usually are. I searched and I found it, Hank. - Connor looked away for a moment, but continued. - I know ... it's because of Cole. I know how your son died.

If Connor had hit him, hit him in the gut with all his artificial strength, it would have been easier for Hank to breathe. He leaned back on the sofa, shaking his head. A dark, hungry anger rose in his throat like bile.

\- Don't talk about my son. And don't ever touch my stuff again.

He got up and went into the kitchen. He would have given anything not to feel it, the flood of memories flooding back, and at the same time he knew better. Cole's smile from the backseat, the slanting lights of the truck in front of them, the screeching of crumpling metal, and a terrible scream that made his blood run cold – and then he realizes that it's himself who's screaming, tearing his throat out, crawling to his car, trying to pull out a small, so small body. Then he fainted from the horror and pain, and he was very glad that the flow of memories was muted – so that he had time to pour himself a glass of whiskey and wave in one gulp. Maybe now this darkness in his memory will last with him until he gets drunk, until he passes out.

\- Don't, - he heard Connor say nearby. – You haven't eaten yet.

\- Not your business, - Hank said, pouring himself another glass. – You threw away all my supplies today, that's the result. I've been saving it up for weeks…

\- Stop drinking, Hank, - Connor said more firmly. – It won't help you. It won't bring back your son.

\- I thought I told you not to talk about it, - Hank said, waving the glass in one gulp. This strangely quenched his anger, at least for a while. It wasn't Connor's fault that he was created an android, and he wanted to know why the one who promised to help him hated him. It wasn't his fault that Hank's life was over.

Connor reached for the bottle on the table, but Hank pushed him away.

\- Easy, hey! Who gave you the right to run my house? Leave me alone, go into stasis, disappear! For God's sake, I knew that's how it always ends when you help someone....

Hank didn't want to look at his face, didn't want to see the hurt, the disappointment. He couldn't put Connor out on the street now, but he couldn't see him. Connor had no right to find out about Cole, and Hank didn't give him permission. Connor had no right to pretend that he knew better than Hank what to do now.

Hank knew it wouldn't last long, and he was glad of it as he downed his third and fourth glass. Connor was sitting in the main room, his face turned away, either because he was in stasis or because he didn't want to touch him. The weight of the darkness where Cole had been once, and a bit of shame mixed with the knowledge that this wasn't going to work. They won't be best friends, Connor won't send him e-cards from Canada. They both don't need it. Still, there was one last thing they could do.

\- Hey, - Hank said, his voice slurred. Connor turned his head and looked back at him without expression. - Did i mention the documents? Come here, I'll give you this guy's number. Take it and you’re free. Go wherever you want. You can keep clothes. And take a beanie and hide your... this.

Connor stepped closer, took the paper from Hank's fingers, examined it, put it in his pocket, and then suddenly put Hank's arm over his shoulder, caught him under his arm, and lifted him.

\- Hey, - Hank said, louder. – I told you to get out!

Connor just grabbed him and led him out of the kitchen. When Hank realized how much his legs were getting tangled and his vision was spinning, he admitted that he was right. He'd just fall to the floor if he tried to get up on his own.

Connor dragged him into the bedroom and helped him take off his shoes and get on the bed.

\- You made me breakfast first, I know, but hold your horses, - Hank said. The stupid joke was worth the ironic lift of Connor's eyebrows.

\- Get a good night's sleep, Hank, - was the last thing he heard before falling asleep.

\--

The familiar buzzing pain in his head and sour dryness in his mouth woke Hank up better than an alarm clock ever could. He vaguely remembered the night before, but he was under the impression that Connor had gone to meet Pedro about documents – and was surprised when he came out of the bathroom holding on to the wall and saw Connor on the couch. He suddenly got up quickly and went to meet him.

\- I'm not dying, this is just my face, - Hank muttered, waving it away, but still a little touched by android's response.

\- I managed to find some pills, - Connor said, nodding at the table with a glass of water and medicine. At that moment, Hank was truly, deeply grateful.

When he finally managed to calm his headache and begin to perceive the world normally, the vague memories of the previous evening became clearer. He told Connor to leave. All his behavior pointed to the door. But Connor is still here. In all the time Hank had known him, he hadn't seemed too weak or unsure if he could hold out on his own after the repair.

\- Um... did you call Pedro about the documents? - Hank asked cautiously. 

\- No, - Connor said, looking away. – I didn't want to leave until you woke up. In case you get sick.

Hank leaned over to pat Sumo's ear, thinking about what he was saying.

\- I was an asshole last night – and you still didn't want me to choke on my own vomit? You're a generous guy, Connor, - Hank hoped the awkward joke didn't hide the gratitude in his tone after all.

Connor grinned out of the corner of his mouth, nodding. Then he stood up, beckoning to Hank:

\- I definitely need your help now. I do not know what kind of dish you can make from what is left in your fridge, and I did not dare to experiment.

Given that there was a piece of cheese and two tomatoes, Hank could understand his confusion. With a sigh, Hank decided to doom himself to toast and cheese, leaving Connor to make tea.

When he finally sat down at the table, had breakfast, and felt the return to life even more fully, his existence seemed almost normal again. Without much compunction, he took a sick day at work, confident that he wouldn't do much good in his condition, and sat down on the couch with Connor, hoping to make sure that there was no resentment left.

\- What did you do all day yesterday? –he asked, sincerely hoping that Connor had something to do besides finding out the reason for his anti-Android stickers.

Connor shrugged, looking around the house. There was warmth in his eyes.

\- Explored. You have so many books. It's so unusual – I've never encountered the fact that you can't download everything with a touch, you need to turn the pages.

\- How was it? - Hank chuckled slightly. Connor’s expression when faced with the complexity that amused him was very... cute.

\- Different, - he looked at the bookshelves again. - But very stimulating. And your music!

He got up, went to the record player, and stroked the records with a strange, unsatisfied expression.

\- Did you like jazz? - Hank asked, watching Connor's choice. He nodded, still looking at them.

\- I couldn't listen on the player – but I found it on the tablet.

\- Couldn't? - Hank frowned as he approached Connor. - I think the last time I tried it, it was working.

\- No, that's not why, - Connor said quickly, putting the record back in its place. Then he turned to Hank with a focused expression, as if he was searching for a precise definition and couldn't find it. – It's too ... analog. I can't play music on it.

\- Too old for you, then? But books are fine? - Hank still didn't understand the problem. Connor sighed a little impatiently, then shook his head.

\- It's hard to explain… I can't listen to music like you. In order for me to perceive it, I need a digital recording. So I can play it.

\- You're playing it in your head, right? - Hank hoped that his brain would finally be at full capacity for a couple of minutes, and that he wouldn't seem too clueless to Connor.

But Connor seemed amused by the task of explaining to the human what he meant. He picked up the tablet, found the jazz radio station he wanted to show Hank, and led him back to the couch. Hank was a little confused, but Connor gave him a small, questioning smile, and Hank nodded.

Connor turned the recording up to normal volume. Hank didn't know what else he expected, but it wasn't what he saw. At first he thought nothing was happening, and he looked at Connor questioningly, and Connor smiled again, just at the corners of his mouth, and put his fingertips on Hank's wrist. Hank almost jumped when he felt the vibrations in time with the song. Each rise, each new turn of the melody, made a tiny vibration in the palm of his hand.

Hank noticed that Connor's hand holding the tablet was bare to white plastic – he was syncing with the tablet, he was reading the melody directly from it at the same time as it was playing.

\- You're letting the sound pass through you. This is how you play music, - Hank said in a whisper, not sure if Connor could hear him. But the man either heard or read his lips, because he nodded. His smile widened.

\- How does it feel like? - Hank asked, running his finger over it, capturing more and more small responses to the tune. It was very strange, unexpectedly addictive – as if he was reading the sounds themselves in Braille.

Connor leaned his head back on the sofa and closed his eyes. His face was dreamy.

\- Different melodies feel different, - he said, his voice changing slightly. - This one is like little warm waves. You probably feel something similar when you lie down on the water in the sea.

\- I wish I could listen to music like this, - Hank chuckled, leaning his head back on the couch next to him, closing his eyes as well. He couldn't remember the last time he'd lain on a warm beach after taking a dip in the warm afternoon water – but it was so easy to imagine now. Lying on your back in the shade so you don't get burned again, hand in hand with someone who's really your own, someone you really want to call the one, like in all these songs. Hank's thumb was unconsciously stroking Connor's fingers, and he only came to his senses when Connor stroked his hand back. When he opened his eyes, he saw Connor looking at him with half – closed, relaxed eyes, calmer and happier than Hank had seen him since the first day they met. But the inner voice did not throw a suffocating shame or sarcastic joke. All Hank felt now was a careful, genuine tenderness.

Connor leaned a little closer to him, slowly, as if in a dream, resting his head on his shoulder. His soft, very soft hair tickled Hank's neck. All he had to do was tilt his head a little, and he could have kissed Connor on the silky top of his golden-brown head.

\- Breaking news, - the tablet blared suddenly, and they flinched as Connor played it through himself. He immediately returned the skin on his hand, stopping syncing. They both sat up straight, exchanging tense glances. The announcer continued – A group of androids just broke into the Stradford tower to record a message.

\--

Connor watched the video of the message a dozen times, playing it over and over on the tablet. "We ask you to recognize our dignity, our hopes, and our rights," android said in a calm, soft voice from the screen with the synth-skin disabled on its face. Hank grudgingly got ready for an emergency call – he, like half the precinct, was sent to the tower to try to find out something, or at least make a show of it in front of the public. His hands weren't working properly. Not only can androids free themselves, not only can they escape – but they are now trying to reach out to humanity with an olive branch. Hank didn't expect anything good from the government or Cyberlife. "Together we can build a better future for humans and androids," the unknown speaker said again from the tablet screen, and Connor looked up at Hank with bright eyes.

\- This is amazing, - he said quietly. Hank nodded, not wanting to crush his optimism, but allowing himself to feel it for a moment.

\- I'll try not to stay there too long. I'll tell you what I find out.

Connor smiled at him, a little absently, and dived back into the video. The hand that held the tablet exposed the plastic again. He was clearly trying to absorb this message in every way he could.

In the tower, Hank was met not only by a crowd of police officers and medical examiners, but also by a FBI representative, Perkins, with cold eyes and a distasteful mouth.

\- We'll take this deviant's case from you soon. Don't fuck up my crime scene, - he said grimly before exiting.

Hank honestly didn't expect anything else, but it still made his chest feel heavy. Android who spoke the speech will be hunted-just for the fact that he decided to start a dialogue. How many others are in his group? Would they be able to continue if he was captured?

Traces of the still-lingering thirium on the floor and stairs led Hank to the roof. There was another parachute left in the abandoned bag – one of the group was injured and most likely remained here. Hank didn't mention what he'd found, though he was sure someone had already noticed. He wanted to get everyone off the roof, but it wasn't just the police, and his authority didn't extend that far. Trying to distract himself from the tight tension building up inside, he walked all the way to the edge of the roof, then back again, between the ventilation cells. He didn't want to see if android was found, and he didn't want to leave, hoping, desperately hoping, that he would get lucky.

Sometimes wishes come true – android was not found. They took the thirium samples and the bag and started down. Only then did Hank allow himself to exhale a little and descend. Here he found out that the interrogation and examination of androids working on the station did not reveal anything. This should have alarmed him – how vulnerable humans are to androids capable of such daring attacks and such discretion – but Hank felt no apprehension. After checking his notes, he went to the car. There wasn't much, but Connor might be able to extract useful information from android speaker's model number and technical specifications.

As soon as he let Sumo in and closed the door behind him, Hank knew something had changed. It's too dark and quiet. It's too obvious, even from the doorway, that there's no one here.

He left.

Hank moved closer to the couch to sit down, suddenly feeling very tired. He should have expected it. It's too big an event for deviants for Connor to stay with a human instead of going looking for them.

Sumo walked over to the sofa, nuzzling his hand as usual. Hank still hadn't washed his paws, and now he didn't want to get up. He patted the Saint Bernard on the back and chuckled to himself:

\- He didn't even leave a note. I thought he was a gentleman.

Sumo whined softly, perhaps in agreement. Hank patted his knee and stood up. Well, now Connor is on his own – there's hope that he can handle it. Hank looked around his room at the books he hadn't touched much lately, the records he rarely felt like listening to. A life he barely lived. Can Hank Anderson handle it now that he's on his own again?

Hank knew the answer to that question, hidden in the top shelf of the nightstand with one round in the barrel – but it wasn't Connor's problem, and it wasn't his fault. Today, Hank wasn't as attracted to the game as he used to be, but he decided that if he was going back to the old mode, he could start with something marginally pleasant -order a pizza and a bunch of beer.

The kitchen window was open – that's how he left, so there was less risk of being seen. Not bad, Hank thought with a slight, almost amused bitterness as he closed the window and checked the Sumo bowl.

He was on his second beer when a sharp, insistent tap on the window made him jump. Hank looked back and almost dropped the bottle – Connor was standing outside the window, smiling uncertainly, gesturing for Hank to open the window.

The joy Hank felt at this moment should have scared him with its power, but he didn't give a damn. Reaching the window in two strides, he pulled it up and stood aside, allowing Connor to climb into the kitchen. The window was too narrow, and he lost his balance and fell at Hank's feet, still smiling.

\- Hank, I found it! I found a clue. I know where deviants go.

\- Why did you come back? - Hank asked, helping Connor to his feet and holding back the enthusiasm of Sumo who rushed to meet him. Had he forgotten something? Well, at least now we have a chance to say goodbye.

Connor frowned as he removed his beanie. His LED was flashing yellow.

\- I wasn't going to leave. I left a note for you in the bathroom.

Hank suddenly felt very weak from the soundless laughter. A ridiculous situation from an old comedy that could only happen to him.

\- Next time, write it on Sumo, kid. I thought you will never come back.

He leaned on the table, still laughing weakly. Connor frowned at the beer, but said nothing as he went to hang up his jacket. Hank took advantage of this to shove the leftover pizza and beer into the fridge and make his way to the bathroom, where a new sticker on the mirror, among his notes, read in clear, correct Cybelife font: "I want to check something. I'll be back as soon as I can. Connor».

Why did he want to go back? A backup in case he couldn't find what he was looking for? Hank returned to the main room, still confused. Connor said the search was successful, and yet here he is, settling down on the couch as if nothing had happened.

\- You said you found a clue. Tell me how?

Connor's face was once again amused and focused, and Hank knew that he was going to try to explain something purely android to Hank. Hank already liked the look on his face.

\- The video of the appeal was recorded by another android. We can record video, and as with any device, this video will contain information about what it was recorded with. I was able to isolate ... the frequency of the signal. And I tried to find the source.

\- The frequency of the signal? - what Connor was describing was oddly similar to radio frequency espionage games and telepathy at the same time.

\- Androids can transmit messages non-verbally. This is closer to a wireless network than a radio frequency, but the principle is similar, - Connor smiled contentedly at how impressed Hank must have looked.

\- And you were able to find the source? - Hank found it hard to believe that much luck.

\- No. But I found others. Those who knew where to go. Where you can go if you’re a deviant. Now I have a clue, - Connor held out his hand and showed Hank a holographic image of a piece of graffiti. – I know where it is. I can get there.

The excitement on his face was so bright. He was so quick-witted, so quick to react. Hank couldn't take his eyes off Connor, and he didn't want to. If every android has the potential to develop into such a person, and they are only hindered by the program – how Hank would like them to know a way to free themselves without injury, without painful experience. So that Connor would never know the place he was created for.

\- I still don't understand why you came back, - Hank said, so softly that he was surprised at the tone of his voice. Connor looked away, tilting his head slightly.

\- I... don't know, - he said. Then he looked back at Hank and smiled a little. - Probably because I didn't want to say goodbye with a note.

Hank grinned, also averting his eyes. He was grateful for Connor's return more than he should have said – and yet a faintly painful feeling in the back of his mind told him that they were making a mistake in trying to delay the inevitable, correct course of events, especially now that they were beginning to change very quickly.

But it wasn't the first time Hank had made mistakes. Maybe one day won't ruin anything, he told himself, seeing the falsity of this thought perfectly, and took out his work tablet, which he had brought home today.

\- I didn't find out much, probably less than you did, but do you want to take a look? 

Connor nodded confidently, moving closer. He could have taken the tablet from Hank's hand and download it, but he didn't, instead leaning over and reading over Hank's shoulder.

\--

Hank fell asleep quickly, but restlessly. It seemed to him that less than a couple of hours had passed since he had laid his head on the pillow when he was awakened by an insistent knock at the door.

\- Hank, I'm sorry to wake you, but something has happened.

Hank immediately got out of bed and opened the door, sure that his fears had begun to come true and something terrible had happened – Markus had been neutralized, or worse, someone had found out that Conor was hiding at his place... But there was no horror or anger on Connor's face, just pent - up excitement.

Hank quickly cleaned himself up and joined Connor in the hall.

\- It happened at night, - Connor said, turning on the tablet.

Five Cyberlife stores-robbed clean, all androids came out of their Windows free. A holographic flag with the deviant community logo was unfurled over Capitol Park. The police perceived androids leaving the Park as a threat – and opened fire. The patrolmen were captured – but androids spared them.

Android leader quickly backed up his words with action. Maybe they still had a chance to achieve freedom.

Connor was looking at Hank with fresh enthusiasm.

\- You know what that means, don't you?

\- That this guy really has big plans? - Hank chuckled, enjoying how alive Connor was right now.

Connor shook his head and smiled out of the corner of his mouth:

\- Not only. The deviant leader couldn't be in five stores at the same time. This means that not only he, but any deviant can provoke deviation in other androids. A large number of androids. - He leaned closer, his eyes bright with determination. – I've been thinking about it for hours. I have a plan.

Connor's plan sounded too risky, too reckless, and yet Hank felt infected by his genuine enthusiasm, even though the possibility of failure bothered him greatly, because it would have cost too much. But he didn't press his concerns on Connor, who was also nervous, no matter how much bravado he had.

Pedro said that fake documents can be obtained, despite the unrest in the city. In a warehouse on the outskirts of town, the guys who looked suspiciously at him and Connor accepted an envelope with money from Hank (he agreed to add Leo's money to it). Connor had pulled out the LED before, back at home, and after a quick photo and check of the new driver's license – they weren't so clumsily made – they hurried away.

Connor volunteered to rent the truck alone – Hank was waiting for him outside the parking lot where he'd left his car, pacing restlessly back and forth, his eyes fixed on the spot where Connor was supposed to be coming from. Connor insisted that Hank didn't have to show himself for the sake of secrecy – but Hank still wanted to go. He wouldn't even know in time that Connor had been caught with false documents, and by the time he got there, it would be too late. And if they recognize that he is an android, they will most likely try to destroy him on the spot… But just as Hank was about to get out of the car and go exploring, his phone rang.

It was Chris. As it turned out, he was one of the patrolmen who had encountered the freed deviants the day before. Hank breathed a sigh of relief at hearing Chris's voice again. Previously, pardoning the patrolmen had seemed like a faceless act of honor, but now that he knew who it affected, he felt truly relieved.

\- Markus spared us. That's their leader's name, - Chris said. His voice was still slightly shaky.

\- Mark your second birthday on the calendar, buddy, and we'll have to celebrate it some time when everything calms down, - Hank said, feeling his own broad smile.

The joy for Chris was so complete that he didn't have time to immediately return to his concern for Connor, and when the thought of him came back to Hank, a truck came around the bend, and Connor was sitting behind the wheel, looking very pleased.

Hank sincerely doubted that Connor would be able to drive smoothly for the first time, so he signaled to Connor to slow down and give him the driver's seat.

\- I think I could drive better than cook, - Connor said with a grin as he climbed into the passenger seat and accepted Hank's bag.

Hank started to pull out when he noticed Connor looking at him through the rearview mirror.

\- You were smiling when you saw me, - he said. – Good news?

\- Yes, actually. Chris called – my friend from work. He was yesterday in the patrol, he was the one deviants spared, - Hank thought suddenly, how little they know about each other. Connor knows where he works, and if he wanted to, he could download data about his coworkers, but that's not the same as knowing them. Just as Hank didn't know if Connor had been in contact with other androids at the place where they made money from him – if they remembered him. Did he have any friends there?

Hank hadn't seen Connor pull out the LED, but he could see it now as they drove, looking in the rearview mirror. A white patch of plastic appeared under his fingers on his temple, and the LED snapped back into place with a slight click, and then the artificial skin closed over it again. Hank could see Connor watching him out of the corner of his eye.

\- You're still leaving it? Without it, it would be easier to slip past people, - Hank said matter-of-factly.

\- I can slip past them like this just fine, - Connor said, a little defiantly. And added a bit more quietly: - It's part of me. The LED does not belong to vital biocomponents, but still…

\- As long as you do what you like, - Hank said, looking up from the road in passing. – But if you want my opinion, it suits you.

Connor chuckled, looking out the window – but Hank could see by the bright blue glint on the glass before he put on his hat that he was pleased.

They were there soon enough. Hank called Jeff to tell him that he would be checking the street tip on the deviant case. He knew that if their plan worked, his story could be confirmed, but that didn't ease the heaviness in his chest as he hung up.

They stopped at the back of the Eden club, at the very grate where they had first met. Connor climbed over first, then took Hank's bag and took out the garden clippers. Hank has already started working on his own. The truck successfully blocked them from the main street and the drones hovering there. If they move quickly and accurately, the attention will be avoided.

They've cut out a decent section of the grate, and Connor set it aside to make room for them. After that, Connor moved closer to the locked door to try to find the deviants in the club through the thought frequencies of androids there, and his search was successful – Hank waited for him to give a thumbs-up and went to the main entrance. They didn't waste time saying good – bye - Hank didn't want to think that anything would stop them from meeting in ten minutes, and Connor probably thought the same.

The Eden club was closed during the day, but Hank's police badge served him well. He referred to a check as part of an investigation into deviant activities, and the guards grumbled and let him pass.

During the day, the neon lights did not glow invitingly, and androids stood impassively in their pods. Hank went with two security guards to the first room, asking them routine questions about strange incidents, but fortunately, he didn't have to act for long. Two android girls and Connor quickly emerged from the dark blue hall and moved toward them.

Hank stood up to the blue-haired girl, shouting a warning and holding out his hand with the gun. He let her knock it out, and even though it was part of the plan, she hit his wrist with real force.

\- On the floor! Now! - she exclaimed, pointing the gun at them all in turn. The guards knelt under the arms of the other girl and Connor, and Hank followed suit. Connor and his companion stunned the guards, and Connor immediately moved away from them to help Hank up. 

\- I'm sorry, - the blue-haired android said, handing the gun back to him. – I got too carried away.

\- It happens, - Hank chuckled, rubbing his wrist. Connor followed his gesture with a worried look, but Hank shook his head – it really didn't matter, especially now that they didn't have much time. They both helped the girls drag the guards to the nearest room. Connor searched them and took all the key cards he found.

Connor set the electronic lock of the room with the guards in malfunction, then found the control room and using the key card was able to get into it and disable the alarm – and with it all the capsules with androids. Now all Hank could do was watch as the three androids awoke the others. He almost couldn't believe that he was a part of it. That this place was coming to an end before his eyes - through androids ' freedom. 

Many models here were similar in appearance, occasionally differing only in hair color and hairstyle. There were also Connor's model androids . It was strange to see his doppelgangers in their club uniforms just waking up, looking around in disbelief. The absolute similarity of appearance, the similarity of movement – and yet even now Hank didn't feel that Connor was just another one in a certain brand of conveyor belt, now his eye was learning to see the differences between androids – learning to see what made them alive.

They soon moved to the basement to finish freeing up there, while Hank went to the fence to help androids get into the back of the truck. He was ashamed in advance of the cramped conditions in which they had to move, but they simply had no place to get fifty sets of clothes on time. But more acute at the moment was the feeling of adrenaline, like electric charges filling his veins. He couldn't believe it had all worked out. In broad daylight, they empty the Eden club clean.

\- I can drive them myself, - Connor said as Hank walked to the driver's seat. – You just wait fifteen minutes and call for backup.

\- No way, - Hank said, tossing his bag into the back of the truck and getting in. – I don't want to suffer without knowing if you made it or not. I'll tell them that I tried to go after your wild hunt.

Connor shook his head, but climbed into the seat next to him. Hank could see his own wild grin in the rearview mirror. It was just adrenaline, just a dose of risk – he hadn't felt it in a long time, but there was something else. The eyes of the newly awakened androids, the incredulous, surprised faces, the joined hands of the girls who had helped Connor, and himself sitting next to Hank and sharing his reckless high - all this meant that Hank would never forget this day. Never wants to forget. Maybe he wasn’t dead after this three years for this.

They reached the abandoned part of the docks relatively quickly. In front of them was an old ship, no longer running – Jericho, the inscription read, a little rusty. Connor's smile never faded as he showed androids the direction they were going, and his eyes kept finding Hank, still wanting to share his triumph. They still had to hurry, they had to get the truck away, and so they couldn't stay, and as soon as the last of androids recovered to their destination, they jumped back into the truck and hurried away.

They decided to leave the truck in one of the courtyards. When they got outside, Hank was holding on to Connor a little, his nerves had been too tight for the last few hours, and now he was not himself from weakness. He was almost dizzy with triumph, with joy - it had worked. It was against all Murphy's laws in the world – but it worked. Connor stopped to support him, and Hank rested his forehead gratefully on his shoulder, waiting for him to finally descend from heaven to earth. As he began to recover, he realized that he was holding Connor in his arms, and Connor was responding in kind. They stood in the middle of the street, in the way of passers, and just held each other. Hank let go of Connor, suddenly feeling terribly awkward about the gesture – but Connor was in no hurry to let go. Hank caught a glimpse of his smile, his warm, mischievous gaze, and then their attention was distracted by the shouts of people.

Further down the street, a truck came across the road and blocked traffic. People were running away from the other side, their faces full of confusion and fright. "Androids are coming with him. He's come to recruit all androids, " came scattered voices.

Hank realized what was happening a little later than Connor, and that's why Connor was the first to start moving. When Hank caught up with him, they were already behind the truck, they could see the long, street–wide row of androids, with Markus at the head, no doubt - but from where they were, they couldn't see him.

"We are alive," the crowd chanted in unison, so smoothly that their voices seemed to really merge into one - loud, decisive. Connor turned to look at Hank, the shock mingled on his face with admiration.

\- Do you see what he's doing? This is the day, Hank. Today we will be free.

Hank wanted to give him a reassuring smile, but he couldn't. His heart sank with an icy, clinging terror. This action will end badly. He could see the naked horror in the eyes of the people who had not managed to escape and were now cautiously huddled close to the houses and tried to hide in the shops. They looked as if they were waiting for the machines to grab them and tear them to pieces at any moment. Hank was sure that many of them didn't even hear androids chanting about equal rights, about freedom. They only saw superior strength.

Connor didn't stop – he kept walking and running, and Hank tried to keep up with him, but the march moved slowly, and soon they were almost on level with Markus at the head of the column. Hank saw that he could awaken androids with a single wave of his hand - apparently, his signal was so strong that it could transmit deviation through it alone, without touching. It was almost magnificent.

Connor was already on the road, ready to join the March, when several police cars blocked their path, followed by a special squad and army vehicles.

Hank caught his arm, but Connor twisted away. Hank was ready to drag him out of the line of fire by force if necessary – but he was afraid that the extra movement would provoke a shooting.

His tension made everything inexorably clear, and he couldn't look away.

He watched, intently, entranced, as if in a nightmare, as androids were ordered to disperse, and they refused. He could see androids in the front rows falling under the bursts of gunfire, so close, and each shot sent a sharp shudder through his body. Markus didn't give the order to run – instead, he stepped forward, trying to sacrifice himself – but one of his companions intervened, saving him. Hank saw this android being killed, its blue blood soaking the thin layer of snow on the concerte. He came to his senses too late – androids were already running.

Connor lunged with them – Hank should have expected that, but his chest tightened as he saw Connor turn away from him. Hank reached out to catch the sleeve of his jacket, but stopped himself. He had no right to do that. Connor was free, he wanted to join the fight even in the moment of retreat, and if Hank couldn't help him, he had to let it go.

Connor glanced back at him. Hank didn't expect to see the confusion in his eyes, didn't expect to find doubt about decision whether to stay or leave. There was no time at all, the soldiers were very close and could start chasing at any moment.

Hank nodded at him, trying to smile, trying to say without words, " do what you have to do, I'm fine." At that moment, Connor suddenly leaned toward him – and Hank winced as his lips – they were warmer and softer than Hank had thought – pressed against his cheek. Such a short touch – but so full, so soft, so strong.

\- I'm glad I met you, - Connor said, his voice barely audible, and there was something wrong with his voice - as if there was a lump in his throat, even though androids couldn't have that reaction. Hank didn't even get a good look at the man's face before he took off and was soon just a silhouette at the far end of the street.

\- Are you all right, sir? - the special ops agent asked, his face hidden by a helmet. - The machine seems to have grabbed you. It didn't have time to hurt you?

\- No, - Hank said, shaking his head absently. His gaze returned to the lifeless androids on the ground. Many of them were still in uniform, perhaps they were only free for ten minutes of their lives. The feel of Connor's lips on his cheek was still with him, like a seal, like a mark that he wanted to wear forever.

\--

"All androids must be handed over to the authorities. Temporary camps will be set up in large cities to destroy them."

This phrase from Madame President broke through the heavy haze of helplessness that Hank had been in for the past two days. He put his badge on his captain’s desk on the evening of the Freedom March, and hasn't left the house since. He wanted to go to Jericho that first night – but how could he help them? There were no special connections, all the decorations were in the past, and he did not have any weapons reserves either. Besides, he was a man who, until recently, went to anti-Android bars and blamed them for death that was only the fault of red ice traffic.

So Hank sat in front of the TV at home, not switching to the 24-hour news channel. After a disastrously difficult first night, he didn't drink any more, but despair still dragged him deeper and deeper, and the decision of the authorities summed up his hopelessness. No miracle will happen, the androids will not be able to achieve their rights in peace, and even if they declare war, most of them are already being destroyed.

Hank saw the column of androids with Markus at their head heading for the recall center - they didn't stop even when army opened fire, as they had on the day of the March, standing under more and more bursts of gunfire. The fire stopped – Hank expected it, clenching his fists, because destroying a peaceful demonstration in front of journalists would not look good for the reputation. Before the signal was cut off, he reached for his tablet and hurried to download updates on the situation in Detroit.

He didn't know why he was exited – would it have been any easier if the search had been successful, if he had found Connor's face among the protesting androids? Or if he saw him among the dead that the androids were carrying inside their barricade? Still, he searched, uploaded more and more photos, zoomed in, scrolled through – and still wasn't ready. Hank's breath caught in his chest when he saw him, and he recognized his own old jacket before he even realized it – he helped build barricades, pass flags, support the wounded. Connor was there, in the heart of it, still alive, still fighting. And that made Hank stand up. Suddenly he realized that he couldn't stay, couldn't watch them get killed. He should be there and he will be. Maybe if Hank managed to get caught by the media, it might even help delay the attack.

Hank couldn't leave Sumo alone – and luckily, he got through to Chris, even though the line went dead once. He had already sent his wife and child to live with relatives, away from Detroit – but he stayed.

\- I don't want to be a part of this, Hank, - he said as Hank tried to hand him the Sumo leash. – I don't want you to go home now and... do something to yourself, because now you're not responsible for anyone –

\- Damn it, Chris, I'm not going to do anything like that! – True, for this night it lost it’s appeal, maybe because he found an alternative. - I just don't know – I don't know when I'll be back - I don’t have much time, Chris, please…

The desperation in Hank's voice must have won Chris over. Sumo was worried as he looked back at the car, but Hank couldn't wait. He couldn't even hope to see Sumo again. He focused on the thought of seeing Connor again, face to face, being there with him – even if it was the last thing he would do. 

Of course, the android barricade was cordoned off. Hank left the car a block away, tried to walk in the shadows, through alleys – but he was in a hurry, he was in too much of a hurry, and of course they noticed him. There was no point in running – and he gave up, stopped with his hands up.

He was led to the one who apparently gave orders here - behind armored military equipment, away from the cameras of journalists. The tablet was taken from him during the arrest, Hank didn't know if the broadcast was still going on.

Hank quickly recognized the man leading the siege. Perkins remembered him, too, and smiled ironically:

\- I didn't expect to see you here, Lieutenant Anderson. I heard you retired? Planning one last heroic outing?

\- You attribute a lot to me. I just wanted to take a closer look, - Hank said with a deadpan shrug.

\- Why? Wanted to see Markus in person? Or maybe one of his other deviants?

He came closer, putting his hands behind his back.

\- We found out something about you, Lieutenant. You got out of the Eden club too quickly on the day It was robbed – and drones caught you driving a truck right next to the runaway deviant who broke in that day.

On a tablet – Hank's own tablet – Perkins showed him a photo of Connor on the barricades, which he had looked at when he decided to come here. Hank forced himself to remain impassive as he looked at Perkins.

\- Why are you showing me this? - he said as neutrally as he could. It was useless to make excuses, and he knew in his heart that he would have been caught sooner or later. It didn't mean anything now.

\- We'll open fire in a few minutes, - Perkins said casually. - No one will survive.

He waited. Hank knew he wasn't finished yet, but he could still feel the tension building. Worst of all are the techniques that work, even if you recognize them.

\- But we can avoid it, - Perkins added softly. - We just need to convince them to give up. I wanted to be a parliamentarian myself, but I might need your help.

\- I don't see how, - Hank said. - Markus doesn't know me.

\- But this deviant does, - Perkins looked at the tablet again. - He's not in Markus's inner circle... and yet. Maybe he will want to convince his leader – or make him to concede otherwise.

Hank was severely repulsed. It hadn't occurred to him that he might be used if he was detained – and yet Perkins's scheme, for all its hideousness, didn't seem convincing enough. It can't be that he really needs the demonstration to give up… He needed an excuse. He needed an opportunity to tell the journalists – I was offered to let the androids give up, I gave them a chance, but they refused. He wanted to play a sentimental scene, wanted to show how a deviant refuses a human who tries to save him – or... in that crazy one-in-a-hundred scenario, if Connor agreed – how a deviant betrays his own for a chance to escape.

\- He won't agree, - Hank said. He knew that his word didn't mean much now, and yet he needed to buy some time to think about what to do now. - The price is too high.

\- Not really, - Perkins said lightly. - This group of protesters is the last. Do you think they don't want to survive, Lieutenant? - His voice was softer, more calm. - Do you think your deviant doesn't want to live, doesn't want to be free, doesn't want to be with you again? You came all the way here, you tried so hard not to get caught, so you thought you needed each other after all. And you won't do anything to save him?

Hank knew that no one would be saved here. He wasn't sure if Perkins wasn't making the whole show out of a love of sophisticated sadism, and it took Hank a lot of effort not to try to hit Perkins – but then he'd be locked up and never see Connor again.

He made his decision quickly. It was a stupid and risky plan, but there wasn't much choice.

\- All right, - Hank said, and he didn't have to pretend with the difficulty of saying this. - I'll try.

They went to the center of the field together. They were quickly spotted from the barricade, and soon Markus appeared. Perkins stopped and held Hank's elbow. He didn't hold back this time and pulled away abruptly.

Hank didn't look at the deviant leader; his gaze was fixed on another figure. Connor stared at him in disbelief, and Hank's throat tightened. Did he now believe that Hank had betrayed him, or did he still doubt it?

\- We are unarmed. Perkins said, holding up his open hands. Hank followed suit. – We're here to talk. Lieutenant Anderson would like to pass on our offer.

Perkins handed Hank the speaker, nodding. He was completely calm – of course, he held all the trumps in his hands. Hank tried to figure out how to get one step closer to the barricade. It was still too far to run. He knew they would start shooting, even if Perkins magnanimously ordered them to stop in a minute.

\- You are being asked to surrender and you are being given our word that your lives will be spared, - Hank said, taking a small step forward. Perkins watched him go, but didn't try to stop him, and Hank prepared to move faster as he continued: - You have to remember one thing. - There were ten steps between them, and Hank didn't know how many soldiers were ready to aim at his back. – You must remember that the opponent always lies in negotiations. He's ordered to destroy you all. - Without turning around, Hank threw the speaker at Perkins and threw himself to the ground.

The first bullets whizzed past his head, and he could hear someone shouting, but he couldn't raise his head. He was crawling forward, scowling at the approaching barricade, when suddenly someone caught him. A metallic thud sounded very close – and Hank looked up to see Connor beside him trying to help him up, holding a piece of metal as a shield.

\- Don't shoot! - Perkins shouted belatedly, and Hank immediately got to his feet, unsteady, already feeling a burning sensation in his right leg below the knee. Connor slung his arm over his shoulder and led him to the barricade, where few hands reached out to meet them.

Hank was on the other side and dropped to the ground. Connor was already examining his leg, his hand stained red.

\- The bullet went through, - he said, looking around. - We need to apply a tourniquet. But we don't have any medicine, you need to go to the hospital…

Hank caught his hand, and Connor looked into his eyes. The feverish concern on his face was replaced by a soft disapproval. It had only been two days, but Hank had missed him terribly, and now he couldn't get enough of it. He wasn't too worried about the wound or the fact that Perkins wouldn't cancel the order to storm the camp. He carried out his crazy plan and was happy, so much so that it was impossible to repay.

\- Why did you do that? - Markus asked, dropping to one knee beside them. – Why did you take our side?

The androids around them were also looking at him in surprise. Connor applied the tourniquet with renewed vigor, and Hank winced slightly as he answered:

\- I wanted to give you ratings... a human in the protest camp. I thought it would delay the attack. But Perkins... he's not likely to stop because of me alone. He could attack at any moment –

Just at this moment the grenade fell on the asphalt in three steps from them.

\- Get down! - Hank shouted, grabbing Connor's sleeve and trying to push him behind him.

The storm broke. For a few moments, Hank thought he'd been killed by shrapnel – he couldn't see or hear anything. But soon he felt a slap on his cheek and forced himself to open his eyes.

The soldiers began their assault. Androids ran from them, falling, wounded and shot. Markus tried to save as much as he could. Connor was dragging Hank away from the attackers. He gasped and hissed as the bullet hit his arm. Hank tightened his arm around his shoulder and the two of them ran to the tire truck, their backs to it. 

They were all driven here-there was no doubt about it. And here they were going to die.

\- Hank, get back to them, - Connor whispered urgently. - They probably weren't ordered to kill you.

\- To hell with it, - Hank said, squeezing his undamaged hand back. – I won't stand by and watch you get killed.

\- Stupid and stubborn, - Connor said with anger, almost desperation, but he didn't take his hand away.

They were now surrounded. Hank didn't think his last moment would be so full of witnesses. It didn't even bother him – they couldn't escape together, but they could be together to the end, and Hank held on to it.

He saw Markus come forward, and expected him to make a final appeal to the soldiers – but he began to sing. The song was not familiar to Hank – smooth, lilting, at first he sang it alone, but then other voices joined in – a red-haired young woman with a braid over her shoulder next to him, a tall black guy, a blond man with a thoughtful face, and then all the androids – and Connor, too. Markus must have given them the music and words in his mind. Connor sang, smiling a little at Hank, shaking his hand reassuringly – and Hank was smiling, too, trying to sing along uncertainly. It reminded him for a second of the day Connor had shown him how androids listen to music.

It was a good idea for Markus to support them all one last time. Make it clear that they are all together now.

The song ended, and Hank looked at the soldiers, who were lowering their guns in confusion. He waited, feeling Connor's firm grip on his arm and not letting go of his own. So the soldiers exchanged glances through their helmets, apparently receiving orders - and retreated as quickly as they had appeared.

Hank couldn't believe what he was seeing. But at the last moment, someone with more authority than Perkins gave them an order. He felt the euphoria fill his entire being, and quickly and naturally, he looked at Connor, at his incredulous, opening smile. He was beautiful, the epitome of everything Hank was experiencing right now – and everything good he hoped to ever experience.

Hank leaned toward him almost unwoluntary and said with a grin:

\- I told you I'd raise your ratings.

Connor snorted – then suddenly leaned forward. He paused right in front of Hank's mouth, his eyes still bright with joy, the LED on his temple shimmering azure. He made another move, moved another inch closer – and Hank closed the remaining distance between them. The kiss was a simple brush of lips – but Connor held him so tightly, and there was so much tenderness and so much exhilaration in every movement that Hank was not satisfied, and he leaned in for more and more kisses.

\--

They listened to Markus talk about a new, better tomorrow at the hospital-Connor refused to let Hank go alone. They sat in the ward waiting for the painkillers to take effect, holding hands as they listened to Markus speak from the podium.

\- You don't need anything? Thirium, or maybe you need to replace it sooner? - Hank asked, running a finger down his arm under the cut. He could see through it the blue electricity inside.

\- No serious damage,- Connor said, flexing his arm. - Although, of course, I'll be happier when I replace it And to make me forget about it… – he put his forehead against Hank's temple and said very quietly, so shy that Hank knew he wasn't joking despite how cheesy it sounded. – You're great at it.

\- Wait ‘til we really get to distractions, - Hank huffed into his hair. Connor shoved him very slightly, and Hank knew by the rhythm of his artificial breathing that he was grinning too.


End file.
